


Take An Arrow

by SubwayWolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Bath Sex, Bitchy Loras, Boys Kissing, Burns, Graphic Descriptions of Burn Wounds, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loras Draws His Sword a Lot, Multi, Reunions, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times that Loras Tyrell wished death upon another person, in no particular order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, I used to have a thing for Loras. And let's be real.... it never really went away.
> 
> I have a feeling this might end up being more than three chapters long. Here goes nothing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Loras meet again, accidentally and under not-so-optimal conditions.

She held her breath as she neared the target, who was back face. The man was slipping a barred half-helm over his head. He was fully armored in copper-plated iron, with a golden stag engraved in the chest plate. Renly Baratheon’s armor. But Renly Baratheon was dead. And this man was soon going to be.

The metal of Brienne’s shortsword screamed when she removed it from its sheath. She swept in to the bed room like a roaring storm, sword drawn. The air tasted of steel, hot hostility, and the fear of the armored man before her. “How dare you!” Brienne shouted, teeth clenched. She leered over the imposter, and her sword was pressing into the folds of chain mail bunched up around his neck. She was nearing flesh by the instant. 

Hands fumbling to unlatch the bars of his half-helm, the shorter man was too stunned to speak. Renly’s armor glowed proudly and the helm shone brilliantly as the man beneath trembled in fear and finally opened the bars covering his face.

Brienne froze at the sight of the fear-filled, golden eyes below her. “Ser Loras?” Brienne managed to whisper in shock before erupting in rage. “Seven hells!”

“What are you doing? Why did you attack me?” The Knight of the Flowers was breathless from the startling.

“I was perfectly inclined,” Brienne assured him, sheathing her shortsword. Her hand was shaking while her heart raced, but she did little to show it in her face. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Highgarden.”

Loras sighed and stepped back. He removed his half-helm from his head, and his hair was revealed, luminous and bouncing with curls, framing his inversely downtrodden face. “My father wants the Tyrells to be on the side of the Lannisters now,” he sighed sharply. “So here I am.” He took a seat in a chair there.

Brienne remained standing, but said nothing. She did not like the was Ser Loras’ muscles were tense, or how he refused to make eye contact. She did not like the way his hand was gripped tight around the hilt of a dagger in his hip. She wondered what he was thinking and wished he would say it aloud.

“You’re upset that I’m wearing his armor,” Loras stated. He smelled of sweat and coppery blood, the gentle fragrance of rosewater trumped by the unwashed musk of death. Brienne knew that if Loras did stink of rosewater, she would have recognized the Tyrell much easier.

Brienne was looking down her boots. “I’m not upset. I’d rather nobody else in all Seven Kingdoms wear it.” She paused. “I just didn’t know it was you behind the mask.”

Loras was annoyed, and his anger was starting to settle in over his shock. “So you put a sword to my neck instead of confronting me yourself?” 

An answer did not come into her confused mind, but Brienne found the words after a moment. She spoke in a measured, quiet tone. “I put a sword to your neck because I didn’t know if you were real.” This silenced both of them. Loras finally met eyes with her. The only motion in the room was their soft exhalations. Brienne looked away from Loras’ eyes. “The smallfolk said that it was King Renly’s ghost,” he said quietly.

Loras frowned. “A wiser man should know better.”

Brienne had known better. She looked at Loras with distress. Loras did not return the gaze. “Why are you upset?” She inquired gently. “We beat Stannis.”

“You weren’t even there,” Loras sneered. “While we fought, you were in the North with Catelyn Stark. We heard all about it.” Loras scowled at her, his eyes flashing to meet Brienne’s. “They all asked where you were. Every one of them. You led them to the battlefield and then scampered away at the first sign of a fight.”

“Yes,” Brienne sighed, much to Loras’ surprise. “I should have been there. I should have protected the men, and I should have fought.” Brienne tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “But I had a different task to complete. My sword is sworn to someone else. It makes no difference.”

Shaking his head, Loras met Brienne eyes with rage. “It makes all the difference.” Gods, he’s right. Brienne swallowed hard. But I had to help Lady Catelyn, I had to. She needed me to protect her and I needed her to make me want to live again. Loras’ mouth was twisted in anger. “You’re a bloody craven. You proclaim that you care and then you move to the next king like a common hedge knight,” he spat.

It completely blindsided Brienne to hear such things. She was too slow to think of anything to say to combat him and she could not help but to think he was right. “You held a victory nonetheless,” she pointed out, averting his gaze. “The armies burned Stannis’ ships and he fled with his tail between his legs.” It made her proud to think of Stannis Baratheon turning tail to run. She almost smiled.

Loras’ eyes surged with fire just as the Baratheon fleet had. “I will never be satisfied until I shove my sword through Stannis’ chest. I will kill him if it costs me my last breath.” Loras exhaled sharply, and his breath was like heat and fire. “My father is wasting my sword on the crimson cause and the bastard King Joffrey, and that is why I am upset.”

“You’re Lord Tyrell’s knight,” Brienne remarked, not understanding why this was the cause of Loras’ fitful anger. “The Knight of the Flowers. That’s who you are.” Brienne knew fully well what it was like to question identity, but he did not consider Ser Loras to have the same frustrations.

“And you’re owned by the Lannisters,” Loras sneered. “Jaime Lannister’s pet. The only reason you joined Renly’s cause was for the end result alone – a larger army for your lions! I know that you killed him, I know it!” His teeth flashed white between his lips. “You never believed in him, Brienne.”

Brienne said nothing. She couldn’t move. She had never heard more lies in a statement in her entire life, but she was so shocked that she could not say anything in response. Her head pounded, she could not believe that her actions were being interpreted that way. Silence rang through the room and down the hall outside the opened door. 

Loras must have thought that he was right in his statement, for if Brienne’s silence did anything, it only proved his point. Still, his anger did not rise. “I still believe in Renly, no matter that I’m here.” He raised his voice above a whisper. “And I’m only here to fight – the same reason that Margaery is here. Fighting is exactly what Renly would have wanted.” 

“Renly was not a warrior,” Brienne said quietly before she could close her mouth. She wished she hadn’t said it. She wished that she had the courage to say something else, to deny his claims and to prove him wrong. But the words would not come.

“No,” Ser Loras said, “He wasn’t.” His brown curls bobbed when he shook his head. “I was his warrior.” Loras closed his eyes tightly. His voice was weak and broken. “It’s my fault, Brienne. It’s my fault that he’s dead.” Renly’s chest plate gleamed proudly as Loras’ posture sank helplessly. “He never would have even thought about being King if I hadn’t started whispering to him about it.” 

Brienne watched Loras cowering, but said nothing to ease him. Brienne was feeling sickly downtrodden as well, weak and powerless to do anything.

“I loved him,” Loras whispered. He opened his eyes, which were gleaming with tears. “I loved him, Brienne,” he repeated with a trembling vigor. Loras was fighting back his emotions like any true knight would. “I still cannot fathom why Renly is dead and you are not.” It was the second time he had said that to Brienne, and it hurt just as much as the first. “Leave me.”

Brienne granted the solitude to him. Loras’ words pierced Brienne’s armor, mail, and skin, and they settled there. They festered and burned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one time Loras wished his brother Willas were dead, and probably meant it.

Renly’s tent was no longer surrounded by guards. Today, the entrance was manned by no one, or perhaps by ghosts, silent and foggy in the eyes of Willas Tyrell. He approached the tent, leaning laboriously upon his oaken cane. When Willas entered, he was instantly hit with the scent of the candles burning a musky, fuming incense to mask the smell of Renly. 

The King himself looked as if he was sleeping. He was in his bed, covered in a green cloth blanket with his hands above the covers. He was clad in a brown tunic with a green collar, an antler-shaped pin fixed at the top of his chest. Renly’s golden crown was resting on his stomach, and his closed eyes made him seem relaxed, as if he were dreaming pleasantly.

Willas’ younger brother, Loras, was kneeling at the king’s bedside. His eyes were bloodshot and red, from lack of sleep and constant tear flow. His hair had fallen into his eyes and his posture was weak. His shoulders slouched as he stared at Renly ceaselessly. He placed a hand on Renly’s lifeless arm, squeezing it tightly as if the pressure he was putting on the King would bring him back to life.

Willas had already spent his time mourning Renly at his bedside the night before, but he knew in the back of his mind that Loras may not end his grief for a long time, perhaps never. Willas was silent for a few moments, forcing himself not to look at Renly’s body. He breathed, wondering again if the ghosts were still there. “Loras,” Willas said quietly. There was no use in whispering, however, for Renly was not going to wake up at a loud sound. “Loras, we must go.”

Loras did not move. He didn’t even seem to notice that Willas had entered, for his thoughts and memories were consuming his consciousness. “Get out,” he said curtly.

Willas steadfastly ignored him. “Stannis’ ships are only an hour away. I can see them on the horizon of the river.” When Loras did not move, Willas continued. “I hear the discussion of the people. Half of them are joining Stannis, but the other half want to leave. I’m taking them to King’s Landing.” He knew instantly that Loras would not like this, but he did not want to be blamed, no matter that he had offered counsel in the matter. “Father commanded it,” he added quickly in a whisper, hoping it would do some good to convincing his stubborn brother. 

Loras was ruffled by this, and averted his gaze away from Renly for the first time in hours. “Father is taking them for himself,” he said forcefully. He gave Willas a hot glare, his anger rising dangerously. In an instant, he rose from his position and drew his sword, placing its tip before Willas’ eyes. “And you’re helping him.” His teeth clenched together, not in anger, but to prevent himself from crying. “Why? For those Lannisters? Why, Willas?”

Willas took a breath, allowing the tension to settle. Truly, he did not know why Lord Tyrell wanted to bring men to the Lannisters, he just knew that he did, and that it was not his place to question his lord father. “Father is not taking them for himself, and he is not taking them for the Lannisters,” Willas lied calmly, meeting Loras’ eyes. He fiddled nervously with his cane. “We are just going to keep them safe.”

“By feeding them to the lions?” Loras was fuming, his reddened, raw eyes set on Willas vehemently. His eyes were filling up with tears again, and Willas struggled to understand exactly why.

Loras’ sword was still red at its base where he had neglected to clean it off. Shortly after hearing the news of Renly’s death, Loras went mad and slaughtered Ser Robin Royce and Ser Emmon Coy, two members of the Rainbow Guard, blaming them for not being quick enough to protect Renly. Willas had the pleasure of carrying the mutilated bodies to the bank of the Mander and dropping them into the river. The murders went without further mention, and it was uncertain whether or not Loras even remembered the killings.

Willas exhaled, showing no signs of fear. The glint of Loras’ silver sword was shining on Willas’ face. “Saving them from the men who will arrive to slaughter them within the hour,” Willas stated calmly. He did not want to go as far as commanding Loras, though it looked like it might come to that. “And I am only here because I want to save you, too.”

Loras lowered his sword, but kept it drawn. He walked to the other side of the bed, and looked at Renly again. Silence cast down upon them until Loras weakly broke it. “Would you be so kind…” he hesitated. His throat tightened from the sobs he was valiantly suppressing. “To escort our sister back to Highgarden?”

Willas watched Loras intently, still making a point to avoid looking at Renly. “Loras,” he articulated with a slight sternness, “I am not going to leave you here. I’m not going to let you die.” It irked him when Loras did not as much flinch. “You’re my brother,” Willas said as if Loras had forgotten. “And I am your elder. Do I have to command you to run?”

“I’m not running from Stannis!” Loras said and spun to meet Willas’ eyes again. Tears were flooding up his eyes. “I will put a sword through his face the instant he steps a foot in this camp!” His grip tightened around the hilt of his drawn sword. 

Willas was calm in his delivery, eyes set on Loras’. “This is not your chance to get your revenge, Loras. I guarantee that Stannis will not be the first man to meet you when his ships dock. He won’t even be one of the first five hundred.” Willas glanced at Loras’ sword and then back up at the other man’s overflowing eyes. “You can’t avenge Renly from the grave.”

Loras hesitated, sniffled, and then walked back to his spot on the ground, the one he had been in overnight. “I can try,” he whispered. He knelt and placed his hand on Renly’s arm again, staring at his lover through the tears spilling out of his eyes.

The situation was beginning to displease Willas, so he got to his point. “Revenge is running through everyone’s mind,” the older man stated. “I want revenge. Margaery wants revenge. Every single one of those bannermen and women outside this tent wants revenge.” Willas took a step forward, speaking gently. “I know you want revenge most of all. But we have to be smart about it, Loras. Today is not the day we shove a sword through Stannis’ burning heart.” Willas raised a hand to touch him, but did not know where to put it, so he let it fall. “Come with me to King’s Landing.”

“Get out.” Loras was fighting sobs with all of his strength, and Willas could have sworn he was trembling. “You’re a liar. And a traitor.” He clenched his teeth together and spoke through them. He held a tight grip on Renly’s sleeve. “Why would the gods take him and leave you?”

Willas did not move. He hesitated, and then made the mistake of looking at Renly. Pain and devastation washed over him, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. He closed his eyes, and then looked back at Loras. “Loras, please…”

Loras repeated himself sternly. “Get out.” It was not a suggestion, but a command. And Willas heeded it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loras wishes Jaime were dead. Jaime can't really blame him for that.

Rosewater and steel. That was the scent that Jaime liked best, and it drew him across the camp to a fenced practice court. Jaime walked towards Loras, smiling. He leaned on the wooden sword rack, where practice swords were hanging. “Hello.”

Loras paused from hitting the sack dummy with his sword to look at Jaime out of the corner of his eye. It had only been a week, but he already looked like a knight of the Kingsguard. The greens and yellows he had been wearing were replaced with sterling silver and white. The leathers in his pants and belt were white, the silk scarf around his neck was white, and the ribbon tying his brown curls back was white. He had swapped the chain mail beneath his shiny armor with a pearl-colored set. “Are you here to practice?” he asked, a looming disinterest in his voice.

Running a hand through his hair, Jaime smiled. “Actually-”

Loras tossed Jaime a sparring sword and Jaime caught it, alarmed. Loras slid a new one out of the sword rack and stepped back a few paces. He angled his sword upward towards Jaime, and Jaime turned to face him. “Actually what?” Loras started pacing around in one direction and Jaime followed, and they faced each other as they moved like dancers. Loras swung first and Jaime blocked it, and then Jaime took a stab and Loras blocked him too.

“I’m here for a different reason.” Jaime grunted, deflecting a sideways blow from Loras. 

“Oh, are you?” Loras asked with indifference. He swiftly sliced towards Jaime’s stomach but Jaime jumped back in time. “Sorry, but that doesn’t interest me.” 

_Liar_ , Jaime wanted to say. The words caught on his tongue. _You gods-damned liar._

* * *

The water was tinted pink and steaming hot, and Ser Jaime was overwhelmed by the damn scent of rosewater. The stench of it fumed vehemently with each of his inhalations. Loras smelled of rosewater every day, but sitting in an entire bath of it, with a hand around Loras’ waist and a hand in the Tyrell boy’s hair, Jaime felt nearly sick to his stomach. Jamie would bet money that all Tyrells pissed the stuff. 

The boy did not like Jaime very much, of that he was certain. Loras must have been a better kisser than he was, but it was apparent that he was withholding from exercising those skills on anyone aside from the long-dead Renly Baratheon. This was, to say the least, quite annoying to Jaime, and it bored him as well. Loras squirmed a bit and made whimpering noises whenever Jaime fucked him, and that was quite endearing, but aside from that, Loras was no fun at all. Jaime only fucked him when he really needed to, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to exchange nothing but seed and silence in their tangles under the covers. This was fine by Jaime, who often detested the sound of Loras’ voice, especially the times when Tyrell cried for no reason at all or asked Jaime about Cersei and Tyrion when it was not his place to do so. The boy was stubborn, for sure. Jaime was intrigued by it. But it still wasted his time.

Jaime pulled his lips away. Loras craned his neck in an attempt to keep them connected. Jaime took a short moment to breathe. “Come here,” he said gruffly. He hardly recognized his own voice and it shamed him. He desperately wanted to get this over with. He was close to grabbing Loras and putting him on his lap.

Ser Loras was slim and stark naked, submerged up to his shoulders in the large bath. He was silent for a few seconds too long, but he knew his limits, and spoke before Jaime lost his patience and reached out to grab him. “You’re leaving,” Loras accused curtly. There was a dim frustration in his eyes. “Where did the Queen end up sending you off to?” he asked. “What did she _command_?”

This was yet another waste of time. “Riverrun,” answered Jaime, sitting on the side adjacent to the brown-haired man before him. He was inadvertently clenching his teeth in annoyance. “And Cersei does not command me to do anything.” The statement was half a lie, and Loras knew it, but Jaime was not quick to admit to it. “Come here.”

Loras made a noise as if considering. He still did not flinch or even acknowledge Jaime’s assertion. “Didn’t you stage a siege of Riverrun?” He obviously knew the answer. “You may not receive a very warm welcome, I’m afraid.”

“I suppose I’ll find out,” Jaime said, sighing. The water shook when his shoulders heaved. “Come here.”

Ser Loras blinked slowly, shifting his gaze to the other side of the tub. His lips were pink and tender from Jaime’s strong kisses. “No.”

 _No?_ he repeated dumbly in his head. _What right does he have?_ For half of a heartbeat, a thousand thoughts rushed between Jaime’s ears, and then none at all. The frustration in his mind was as troubled as the rippling water they sat in. 

Jaime had heard Mace’s voice rising in fury but the door had slammed before Jaime could make out the words. “What was Lord Tyrell saying to you in your room when I left you last?” Any light in Loras’ eyes faded almost instantly, and Jaime almost regretted bringing up the incident. Loras was trying to find the words to explain, or perhaps he was formulating a lie. With a raised eyebrow, Jaime didn’t even offer Loras the opportunity to speak. “It was about me, wasn’t it?”

Loras did not speak for a long time. He sunk into the water only slightly, but his regression was noticeable. “My father told me that being alone is the price we pay to win this game of thrones.” Loras’ voice was soft, remorseful, yet his eyes met Jaime’s with curiosity. “And he told me the lion and the rose are not meant for each other.”

Jaime could only smile, although his stomach turned in sudden disdain for the situation. “Well, Lord Tyrell isn’t very optimistic, is he?”

“Perhaps he was telling the truth,” Loras noted softly. The water evaporated eerily around him.

The first emotion Jaime felt was agreement. Jaime was nothing like Loras Tyrell - not this Jaime, maybe the young one, but not the one sitting here at this moment. He leered across the water at him. And right now, he certainly didn't feel like a lion.

Loras’ eyes gazed up to look Jaime over. “He said, if you place a lion in rosewater, he is still a lion, and that may be true,” Loras continued. “But, I told him, I like the lion just the way he is. I may even love him.” 

_Liar_ , Jaime thought immediately. 

Loras shook his head, staring down at his own reflection in the bathwater. “‘Not another Renly’, my father said. ‘Not another Renly’.”

Jaime panicked. He was experiencing the feeling that something fleeting was drifting away from his reach. He put a hand behind Loras’ neck and pulled his face to his own, kissing him forcefully, shutting his eyes tightly. Loras did not pull away, but did not ease into the kiss, either. 

Horrified, Jaime wondered if he was doing it right. The last time he had been with a man was before Robert’s Rebellion 

Jaime felt stiffness in Loras’ posture, and opened his eyes a slit. He saw Loras’ eyes closed tightly as if he was in pain or combating a deep state of sadness. _He isn’t kissing me_ , Jaime realized as Loras kissed him with increasing vehemence. _He’s kissing Renly._

He panicked and shifted in his seat. He moved his hands through the water and ran his hands from Loras’ hips to his ribcage, holding him closer. _Look at me_ , he screamed in his mind, _Please, Loras. Please look at me._ It was as if Loras had heard him, because slowly his eyelids opened, and Jaime shut his in response. 

Loras relaxed, slowly at first, and then he swiftly shifted his body weight, climbing onto Jaime’s lap, facing him and kissing him all the while. He straddled Jaime’s waist, spreading his legs before Jaime’s torso. The kiss grew in vehemence by the second, and it wasn’t long before Loras’ fingers were intertwined in Jaime’s hair and Jaime’s hands were progressively reaching downwards towards Loras’ rear. They hesitated for breath only for a second, and then dove into each other again, relaxing against one another’s body heat. These kisses tasted sweet and felt as if the Tyrell was breathing happiness into him. Cersei’s kisses had becomethe very opposite. 

The scent of rosewater was no longer putrid in him. He knew it would linger in his clothes and in his hair for days, maybe even weeks after he left this washtub. But if it meant sacrificing the company of Loras Tyrell, it was worth it.

* * *

Jamie blinked back to reality and barely dodged a swipe of a sword. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to think about sex during a practice sword fight.

Jaime stepped forward and cut down towards him hastily, but Loras spun out of the way and Jaime’s sword clanged against the ground. Jaime furrowed his brow in frustration. “I want to talk to you.” The sun reflected off of his silver armor and blinded Jaime at the wrong moment and Jaime tried to blink the bright glare away.

“Not interested,” Loras asserted, meeting Jaime’s eyes for a flicker of an instant. 

They swung simultaneously, and their swords clashed in a piercing sound of metal contacting metal. They pressed hard against the sword before them and their bodies neared each other. The rosewater scent hit Jaime’s nostrils, and he was dazed. It impacted him enough to loosen his grip and suffer a blow to the shoulder. Jaime winced and put his sword down. “Hey! That actually hurt.”

“Cry about it.” Loras took a step back and stood still with a hand on his hip, smugly pleased and looking down his nose at Jaime. Tyrell’s longsword was still angled upwards. Jaime dropped his sword to the ground, and watched Loras intently as the other knight rolled his eyes. “What could you possibly want to say to me?”

Jaime didn’t quite know what he wanted to say, so he resorted to what reached his tongue first. A smile preceded. “I wanted to apologize for upsetting you the other day.” They had not talked since then.

Loras looked at his feet with an amused smile, but when he looked up, the smile had already vanished. “You’re apologizing because what I said was the truth.” He frowned. “Wasn’t it?”

Jaime looked around as if the answer was printed on the stone walls somewhere. It wasn’t. “Yes,” he said. “It was the truth.”

“I knew it.” Loras looked like he was in pain when he said it, and suddenly his eyes weren’t meeting Jaime’s anymore. His brown hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “At least you have the integrity to admit it.” His cheeks were flushed pink at the heat. His eyes gleamed, golden even through the darkness of his sudden sadness. He’s beautiful, even when he’s sad. Jaime was desperate to reach out and touch him, to comfort him in some way. Jaime wanted to kiss him. 

Jaime almost took a step towards Loras, but hesitated and remained where he was. He offered a gentle shrug. Jaime’s eyes saddened. “It has been a long time since Renly was alive,” Jaime said softly. “And he was a good, kind man. I won’t deny that. And he did not deserve to die.” Cautiously, Jaime walked towards him a few paces. Loras backed up in time with him, his eyes cast down, and he said nothing. “But he didn’t know anything about ruling. The Iron Throne would never have suited him. In fact, it would have ruined him, just as it does to everyone else who sits upon it.” He almost, almost brought a hand up to Loras’ face, but stopped himself and only gripped his sword tighter. “As much of a tragedy as it was… you can move on.”

After a long while of considering, Loras shockingly started to laugh. It was a soft laugh, and there was nothing behind his eyes. “I find it funny,” he said. His smile fell before he elaborated. “I always thought you were just like him,” he said quietly. Inside him, there was a fury he managed to calm. “You smile like him, you talk like him - gods, you even smell like him. So when you were fucking me like that, holding me down by the hair, pressing my face against the headboard… the only thing I could do to keep myself from fighting back was think about… him. And I’m not sorry if that hurts your feelings.” He shook his head. “But it’s not so easy to leave the dead behind.”

Jaime blinked in a startled confusion. After a moment, Jaime actually found himself amused. If he thinks I’m like Renly, he surely knows nothing about me. Jaime shook his head. “I am nothing like him, Loras.” Jaime took a step closer to him. “I wish I was. But I am not good or kind or valiant.” He glanced to his right to see, smell, and hear the extent of the booming camp which teemed with life before him. “But Margaery can be. Find your peace here in the Kingsguard.”

Scornful, the Knight of the Flowers hung up his practice sword as he kept eye contact with Jaime. “It makes me sick to see you here, pretending to follow her.” His brow etched with confusion when he looked Jaime over. “I thought you said you hated to do your father’s bidding.”

“I do,” Jaime replied at once. He hated to remember that the Lannisters were still under the impression that he remained on their leash. “That isn’t why I’m here.”

Loras’ eyelids drooped. He sees how pathetic I am. “Then why? Why come here if you will only abandon this city in the end?”

An answer came as quick as wind. “For Cersei.” A part of Jaime wished Cersei was there to hear it, and a part of him was glad she was up in the Red Keep. 

Suddenly, Loras seemed as if he no longer cared. “Fine,” he said, “But after you make her happy, leave this place. Don’t defy Tommen or Margaery, and don’t hurt anyone at all. Just leave quietly.” Loras’ voice and eyes were pure hate. “This city will be better off without you.” 

The passage of clouds darkened the sky above Jaime. “I know.”

Loras kept firm eye contact with Jaime. “I don’t care about you, Jaime. I just don’t. I never did. I hated you the moment I laid eyes on you.” He set his jaw, signaling bare honesty was to come. “I shouldn’t have fucked you. It was wrong of me to think that was a good thing to do. And it wasn’t even enjoyable.” Not eager to continue, Loras took a breath. “I hope you know I didn’t come here and join your Kingsguard to be with you.” 

For some reason, this made Jaime sad, although he had been trying to forget about it as well. His posture loosened. “I know.”

Furrowing his brow, Loras scowled at Jaime. “Do you even care to understand why I joined?” he asked readily. He shut his eyes tightly, as if the darkness behind them would comfort him in some way. “I came here to escape my duties, not to take on better ones.” Loras opened his eyes and they showed anger as they met Jaime’s. “He wanted me to wed your sister, did you know that? I had to join. All I am to my father is an expendable knight wearing green and yellow, in service to a king I loathed.” Loras’ eyes shone behind the shadow of his curls, and Jaime could have sworn that he was crying. Loras shook his head. “The man I wanted to be king, I buried him with my own hands. I joined the Kingsguard to perhaps, one day, serve another Renly, or the closest I can get. When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.”

Jaime spoke in a measured, calm tone, struggling to make eye contact with the shorter man. “I know.”

Loras Tyrell’s eyes were not a pretty color green anymore. They were full of hate. “You should have died instead.”

The sun was unforgiving. Jaime was sweating beneath his armor. “I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loras and Renly meet for the first time in (what seems like) forever and Loras has a thousand apologies for all of the nothings he did wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update to the story no one was waiting to be updated. You're welcome. Honestly I did this just to fill my personal quota of one fic per month. Here I am on August 31st fulfilling my duty.

With a quickened pace, Renly Baratheon snaked around the halls of the Red Keep. He passed the black cells, the crypts, the throne room, and the dragon pits, the walls still charred and melted with fire. For obvious reasons, he was not fond of the Red Keep. It was not the crowds or the swords or the guards which offset him. It was the lack of opportunity to leave. Everyone was inside at all times. Without escape, tensions often rose without warning and without reason. As someone who was not conflict-oriented, despite popular belief, Renly loathed this environment. It was not like the dusky, damp halls of Storm’s End were any better, though.

Unfortunately, the outside of the Red Keep was not entirely better. Fleabottom had not changed in its level of sanitation since Renly had been to King’s Landing last. The stench had not changed, either. Dirty shacks and dirty people lined the road, watching as various members of the City Watch patrolled their town’s dirty walls. Renly sneaked around, avoiding dirty puddles and eyes of the onlookers. Despite all this, he felt so alone here. There was nothing for him for miles around, and this was no place he wanted to be. But he was not here for pleasure. He was here to find someone.

The dust of the unpaved streets kicked up under each of Renly’s quiet footsteps as he searched in secret. Banners, stitched with golden Lannister lions backface to black Baratheon stags, tousled in the wind. A soft voice called out from behind, dampened by snowfall. “Renly,” Loras Tyrell whispered. His voice was weak, soft, and laced with longing. 

Renly turned over his shoulder to find him, releived and yearning. _If only we were truly alone in this courtyard so I could touch him and kiss him all I want._ He wanted to run over to him and wrap him up in his arms and kiss him all over. _But Robert is now king, and the Lannisters are watching._ Renly picked up his pace as he followed the direction of Ramsay’s voice, yearning to be near him and share his warmth. _It’s been so long._

Loras was in an alleyway between two grey-stoned buildings, standing half-enclosed in darkness. “Renly,” he repeated gently. All that shone out of the shadows were Loras’ eyes, stunned, kindled, and the color of unmined golden ore, but something behind them made it seem as if they were melting. “You came for me.”

Exhaling in a heated breath, Renly approached Loras in the darkness. A smile crossed his lips, and for a handful of moments he had nothing to say, which was a godsend of a miracle. “Loras,” he whispered, for that was the only thing running through his mind.

When Renly was within reach, Loras grabbed him by the fabric of his surcoat and pulled him into the darkness of the alleyway. Loras pushed him roughly against a cold, stone wall where the Lannisters and Kingsguard and City Watch could not see. Renly was weightily pinned against the stone walls of the city, but Loras’ warm body was forced against him to hold him there. Their hips pressed against each other in a perfect match, and their waists relaxed in muscle memory. Loras’ voice was weak. “Where have you been?”

Renly exhaled. The force of being pushed against the wall was not enough to knock the breath out of him, no matter that Loras was more of a warrior and reasonably more physically fit than Renly himself. Nonetheless, the young Baratheon still felt breathless, as if all the air had been pressed out of his lungs, and when he tried to refill it through an inhalation that swelled his chest slowly and copiously, the dull and dusky scent of rosewater gave the air a heavy pink musk, and Renly’s eyes drooped only slightly.

Loras looked him straight in the eyes, unable to keep his own eyes from faltering. The only noise in the alley was Loras’ fretful breathing. “My father told me you were dead,” he explained, voice getting quieter, gradually. “And with the way he scolded me, the way he hated me…” He bared teeth, gripping tightly on the fabric draped around Renly’s shoulders. “I wished that you were. I’m so sorry.”

Wishes never came true, the both of them knew that, so when Loras’ face started twisting like he was going to cry, Renly become outright confused. So they kissed, they melted together, lips and forgiveness both. Loras inhaled Renly’s scent as their lips met malleably, pleasantly, there in the shade. The event was more for the closeness, for the touch and the feel, not for the pleasure. They closed their eyes for the full effect of the sensual explosion, and suddenly even the darkness was filled with scent and brightness and feeling.

Loras pulled back but did not loosen his grip around the white cloak. His lips were only a breath apart from Renly’s. Renly could feel him breathing softly against his mouth, and his breath smelled of sweets, uncannily. 

Somehow, words were still not rising in Renly. He was dangerously close to his lover, close enough to want to kiss him again, but that was at Loras’ diction. He opened his eyes slightly to see that Loras’ were forced shut. There was sun shining in a sliver, distorted across his curled hair, bestowing upon the prince a lucent yellow crown. 

Loras was not looking for a response, for the kiss was forgiveness in itself. Instead, he was trembling. His hands, his voice, and his breath were shaking in desperation. “Don’t leave me again,” he pleaded. He was gently racking with sobs, a soft and suppressed noise that carried down the dark alleyway. He forced his eyes closed even tighter and tears leaked out their edges. “Promise me.” He was warm and he smelled of a bright, young, green garden. “Please, please, please.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final person Loras wishes death upon is himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? Fuck it. I'll just finish the whole thing today. I mean, there is Latin 101 homework I should be doing but... it's whatever. Fuck it. Thank you and good night.
> 
> So, who noticed that all of these chapters were named after Jukebox the Ghost songs? Anyone?? Hit me up if you did. I love those guys so dearly.

“Kill me,” he said. There was no one around to hear it, not anymore. The stink of blood and charred flesh was musky and hot and it hung like a fog in the room. Loras was on his hands and knees in Dragonstone, dragging himself across the stone floor. He didn’t know where he was going. Smoke blackened his sight and burned his lungs with every inhalation as he struggled not to choke on the heavy air.

He wondered if he was dead. 

There was no pain. He knew that a lot of the burnt, blackened flesh was his own. He did not have to look. He could not move his face to shout or scream or call for help. He wondered if he needed help at all.

He hoped he was dead.

He wondered if Renly had felt the same way when he was dying. Hopelessness, loneliness, but strange and dull comfort. Solace. Sadness. Had Renly felt these things? Loras hoped to ask him.

It terrified Loras to think about being buried in Highgarden. He wanted more than anything to be lain beside Renly, beneath the willow that turned golden yellow in autumn, the same one they had climbed up as children, the same one they had kissed in while sitting on the lowest branch. If he had thought he was going to die today, he would have told someone, Margaery perhaps, where that tree was. But he didn’t, he hadn’t. And no one knew.

He had crawled far away from the site of the massacre by now. The other men were dead, he was sure of it, so he left their ghosts behind.

The heavy mass of curly dark hair on his head was gone. He could not feel its weight, and when he turned his head, it did not cover his eyes in darkness. He kept thinking of Renly, how Renly would touch his hair in passing or move a stray curl into proper place or take it in handfuls when they made love. It was gone now, and so was he. 

Loras Tyrell, as hideous as the Hound. Renly would not like to see that, not at all. But would he even care? Would he laugh? Would he kiss Loras right on his mangled lips? Loras didn’t know anymore. He didn’t remember. It had been so long.

He began to weep. The tears stung his red, blistered cheeks, but he welcomed them.


End file.
